


Surviving the Storm

by Alisanne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Top Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6619663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/pseuds/Alisanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry knows how to manage Draco's stormy moods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surviving the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Written for HD_Fluff's prompt #123: Thunderstorm. 
> 
> **Beta(s):** Sevfan and Emynn.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.

~

Surviving the Storm

~

Harry can see the storm clouds gathering the moment he gets home. Maybe going out for dinner and drinks with Ron and Hermione after work wasn't the best idea, but it’s been ages since they did it, and Draco goes out with his friends all the time, so surely he doesn’t begrudge Harry? Only, by the way he’s glaring, apparently he does. 

“Have fun?” Draco asks, his tone deceptively soft. He’s lounging on the sofa, all loose limbs, the picture of relaxed elegance. But something about the tilt of his mouth and the way he’s holding his shoulders is off. 

Recognising the warning signs, Harry knows to tread carefully. “It was all right,” he says, trying to downplay his five-hour absence. “We went to Angelo’s, and you know how slow they can be. It was delicious, though.” 

And that’s a mistake. Harry knows as soon as he says it. 

Draco’s lips thin. “As I haven’t been to Angelo’s in at least a year, no, I have no idea how slow they are these days, nor how delicious their food may or may not be at the moment.” His tone is sharp, and Harry sighs. 

“Do you want to go? We can anytime you like, just say the word and I’ll make some reserva—”

“I shouldn’t have to.” Draco’s mouth snaps shut as if he’s regretting letting those words escape. He exhales. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re home and that you enjoyed yourself with your _friends_.” 

“Are you?” Harry tilts his head, watching Draco carefully. “Because you don’t sound like you are.”

“Of course I am.” Setting aside the book in his hands, Draco stands. “They’re your friends. Just because you have secret dinners with them, dinners to which I am not invited, doesn’t mean I’m upset in any way.” He starts for the door. 

Oh shit. Harry tamps down his own temper. Shouting at Draco gets him nowhere except sleeping on the sofa with nothing but a thin blanket to keep him warm. “No?” he asks in his most reasonable tone. “Because you sound upset.” 

“Do I?” Draco spins to face him. “Why should I be upset that you feel the need to have secret dinners with people who hate me and probably spent the entire evening telling you how rubbish I am and how you can do better?!” 

He’s shouting now, and Harry closes his eyes for a moment, fighting to maintain calm. “They’re not secret dinners since you know about them. And they don’t hate you.” Much. “We don’t even discuss you, really.” 

“Oh, so I’m not even worth mentioning now?” Draco’s hands are in fists and he’s holding himself rigid. “And of course they’re secret dinners as I’m never invited!” 

Harry can feel himself flushing. “You go out to dinners with Zabini and Parkinson!” 

Draco sneers. “Yes I do. Dinners to which you are welcome to accompany me. Unlike your _secret_ ones. Just because you don’t care to come doesn’t mean we talk trash about you behind your back—”

“I just want to give you private time with your friends!” Fuck, now _he’s_ shouting. Harry exhales, tries for a milder tone. “They’re your friends. I’ve always figured you’d like some time alone with them to catch up on their lives. And I figure they’re less free to talk without me around.” 

“The same way Weasley and Granger are less free to besmirch my name with me around?” Draco says, tone frosty. 

Hell. They’ve gone from shouting to icy politeness. The fight’s about to turn vicious, unless… Harry swallows hard. “There was no besmirching,” he says, tone pleading, conciliatory. “I’d never allow that. They know I’d never allow that. We chat about our jobs, their kids, their parents, Ron’s family…all sorts of things that you’d probably be bored listening to. I mean, do you really want to hear about Hermione’s latest case or Ron’s newest niece?” 

“No.” Draco’s shoulders sag. “But I’d like the opportunity to refuse the invitation.” His expression is unreadable. “You don’t even invite me, Harry. And you never go with me when I visit my friends.”

Fuck. And now he sounds hurt. “I will next time, I promise.” Harry edges closer and Draco doesn’t move away, a good sign. “I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps it would be best to allow me to decide exactly what I am and am not interested in.” 

“You’re right,” Harry murmurs, reaching out and clasping one of Draco’s hands. “I should. It was wrong of me not to at least extend an invitation.” 

“Yes, you should, and yes it was.” Draco’s trademark smirk is back, a familiar glint flashing in his eyes. The storm clouds are dispersing. “Now, how are you going to make it up to me?”

As fast as lightning in a thunderstorm, Draco’s mood has flipped. Harry, accustomed to his quicksilver mood changes, smiles. “However you want,” he says. 

Draco inhales sharply. “Be careful, Potter,” he purrs, his hand sliding down over Harry’s back to settle lightly on his arse. “That’s a very open-ended offer. I could make you do something…kinky.” 

Harry licks his lips, suppressing the moan that wants to escape. “I meant what I said,” he whispers. “I’ll do anything. You. Want.” Tilting his head, he offers Draco his vulnerable throat. “Anything.”

It’s gratifying that Draco’s hand is shaky when he cups Harry’s jaw to stare into his eyes. “Oh, the things I want to do to you,” he says. Dipping his head, he grazes his teeth lightly along the column of Harry’s throat, following up with a swipe of his tongue. 

Harry melts against him. “Fuck. Draco, please—”

“I didn’t say you could beg. Yet.” Draco nips Harry’s earlobe in warning. 

Harry can feel the hot, hard length of Draco against his thigh. He nods jerkily in acquiescence, his eyes fluttering closed as Draco noses along his jaw. Draco’s other hand is worming its way under his trousers and pants to cup and grip his arse. But it’s when Draco runs his tongue over his beating pulse that the low thrum of lust inside Harry blossoms into fiery desire. He whimpers.

“Bed,” Draco growls. “Now.” 

They stumble down the hallway, Draco running his hands all over Harry, Harry trying to grope him back, only to have his hands slapped away. It’s torture not being able to touch him, and by the time they get to the bedroom, Harry’s whining. 

“Strip and get on the bed,” Draco says. “Up on all fours.” 

Harry shivers at the predatory look in Draco’s eyes. Nodding, he slips out of his clothes before crawling up onto the bed. 

“Hold yourself open for me,” Draco purrs. 

Inhaling, Harry reaches behind himself, holding himself open, imagining what he must look like, wanton and desperate for Draco. 

Draco doesn’t take long. Harry hears clothes hit the floor, feels the mattress dip with Draco’s weight as he climbs on. His eyes close as Draco’s thumb circles his hole. “Are you ready to beg?” he breathes. 

Harry doesn’t have a chance to react to that before Draco’s tongue is there, swiping over him. He shudders, electric sensation spreading through him. “Fuck,” he whispers, his head hanging low, his back arching as he tries to push back, to wordlessly encourage Draco to continue, to give him more. 

And Draco does, spreading his cheeks with his thumbs, pointing his tongue and fucking Harry ruthlessly with it. The noises Harry makes are obscene, and now he does beg, breathlessly, his whines seemingly spurring Draco on. 

All too soon Draco pulls back, his thumb still circling, circling, pressing Harry open. A slick fingers works its way inside Harry, but it’s not enough. “Please,” he whimpers. 

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Draco murmurs, his voice low, dark. “If you’re not careful I may chain you to the bed. Keep you like this solely for my pleasure.” 

Harry trembles at the imagery. “Fuck.” 

“Yes.” Draco shoves two spell-slicked fingers in, sliding them in and out in a parody of what he’s about to do. “That’s what I’d do to you at every opportunity. I’d tell your friends you’ve moved away, then keep you here just for me to sink my cock into every day when I come home. You’d be my fucktoy. You’d belong to me.” 

“I do belong to you,” Harry groans. “And…fuck…there are easier…Merlin! Easier ways…of keeping me…here.” 

“Are there?” Draco pulls his fingers out and and something much thicker nudges at Harry’s hole. “I seem to have found a foolproof method, though.” And with a firm thrust he’s seated inside Harry. 

Harry cries out, his hand fisting the sheets as Draco starts to ride him with long, sure strokes in and out, giving him no quarter. His rhythm is rough and relentless and Harry loves it, arching back to meet every push.

Draco’s clutching Harry’s hips, probably leaving finger-shaped bruises that Harry will find in the morning, but he doesn't stop, he pounds at Harry. The only sounds in the room are the slap of flesh on flesh and their panting, which is escalating as Draco speeds up. 

Eventually, Draco can’t sustain the rhythm and it degenerates into rough, uneven thrusts. He’s going to come soon, Harry can tell, and Harry’s right there with him, his cock leaking everywhere, onto his stomach, the sheets—

“Fuck!” Draco shouts and shoving himself as deep as he can, he empties himself inside Harry, shuddering through his pleasure. He collapses on top of Harry, his chest moulded to Harry’s back, and he pants into Harry’s hair as he struggles to catch his breath. 

Harry, pressed onto the bed, tries to shove a hand under himself to reach his cock. It’ll only take one or two strokes—

“No,” growls Draco. “I’ll make you come.” 

“Wha—? Oh fuck!” Harry moans as Draco slips out of him and then shoves three fingers back into his slick hole. Harry writhes on Draco’s fingers, and when he slips a fourth in, Harry’s almost mindless. The sheets are almost too rough against his sensitive cock as he moves restlessly beneath Draco. 

“I bet I could get my whole fist in here,” Draco whispers, leaning down to speak in his ear. Harry can hear the smirk in his voice. “I could fist you all night long and sell tickets. What would people pay to see you like this, I wonder?”

The imagery is too much, and with a shout, Harry comes, soiling the sheets and himself, white hot pleasure spiralling through him. 

When he’s himself again, and Draco has cleaned them up, they are under the sheets, with Harry wrapped securely in strong arms. 

Harry, still floating high from pleasure, tucks his face into Draco’s neck. “So…that thing about chaining me to the bed. That was just dirty talk, right?” He grins. “Because it’s not very practical.” 

Draco snorts. “Of course.” He slides his leg between Harry’s thighs. “Although, if you continue your secret dinners with Weasley and Granger, I won’t be responsible for my actions.” 

Sensing the possible return of the storm clouds, Harry disperses them with a few words. “It’ll never happen again,” he promises. 

“Good.” Draco hums. “So Pansy Flooed today. She and Blaise have invited us for dinner next week.”

Harry closes his eyes. “I look forward to it.” He smirks. “May I recommend Angelo’s?” 

Draco nuzzles him. “Git.” He laughs softly. “I’ll mention it to Pansy.”

~


End file.
